


In The Realm of Dreams

by Rahn (Rahndom)



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 08:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rahndom/pseuds/Rahn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While under the influence of Ivy’s new brand of pollen, Damian dreams up his perfect family, with his father, millionaire Bruce Wayne, and his mother,  Dr. Caroline Hill. Too bad he can’t differentiate dreams from reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

It could be argued that when  _ **it**  _happened it was more or less an accident…

… If Doctor Pamela Isley could be considered an accident in on herself.

Which Dick mostly did.

Fed up with the youngest Robin’s asexual disposition - he was twelve, he should be a bag of hormones ready for her pollen and his disinterest was perceived as a personal insult, really - she had concocted a special blend of wonders specially for his issues - he’s Batman’s, issues were a job requirement with the man - and whatever that little psychopath’s mind could come up with.

Which was the reason why Bruce had called Dick in to ask - snap, growl, demand, all what the same with Bruce - if he had ever encouraged strange sorts of fantasies in his son during his absence.

Since Dick had never done anything of the sort - no matter how much he might have wanted to - he decided it was a good time as ever to visit the Manor and investigate what might have happened.

What he found, however was most puzzling, if Alfred’s after account of the events could be believed.

Damian was laying on his stomach in the main study room, feet waving in the air as he hummed a soft tune and drew on several pieces of paper, hands dexterous despite his full blown pupils that evidenced his drugged state.

Two figures were standing in a field of quickly-drawn grass, holding stick-like hands and sporting enormous smiles of content, the sun shining overhead and flowers growing everywhere as the boy colored happily.

A boy, presumably Damian, and a woman with long hair and eyelashes, wearing a simple white skirt and a soft blue sweater.

Damian and his mother, apparently.

“Little D?” Dick asked worriedly. “What are you doing?”

“Mother is coming to visit,” Damian replied curtly, never taking his eyes from his drawing. “I want to give her a proper present upon her arrival.”

Dick raised an eyebrow.

“Talia is coming?” he asked, to which Damian finally turned to him, a frown on his young face.

“Who’s Talia?” he asked back, tilting his head.

Dick blinked.

“That’s your mother, isn’t she?”

“No?” Damian stared at him. “Grayson, did you hit your head or something? My mother’s name is not Talia. You know that.”

Wait, what?

Dick didn’t know any other woman, much less one that would manage to get close to Bruce so much as to produce a child, than fearsome Talia Al Ghul, - Selina being a close second, but that kitty was definitely not mommy material for their little D -  Hadn’t Talia given birth to Damian? What was the boy talking about…

Those wide pupils were his only answer.

Pollen, right.

“I’ll be right back,” he muttered, running towards the cave.

Damian just shrugged, continuing his drawing.

Bruce met him with an exasperated huff and the frantic typing his fingers were pounding on the computer.

“Don’t say a word,” he snapped. “I know.”

“He thinks his mother is coming for a visit!” Dick protested. “What the hell happened to him?”

“We ran into Ivy,” Bruce snapped. “I’m trying to isolate the pollen she threw at him. It’s not the usual kind.”

“I would guess so,” the younger man said, leaning towards the screen. “He’s not a ragging sex maniac right now.”

“So far it doesn’t appear to be harmful,” Bruce sighed, continuing his research. “Therefore until I have an antidote, we should just play along and let it run its course.”

“So, Ivy didn’t want to fuck Damian, that’s a relief.”

Bruce turned to him, eyes narrowed.

“Dick.”

“What?” Nightwing protested. “He’s thirteen! It would be wrong.”

Bruce shook his head.

“Play along with him, Tim is on his way back to help me out with this and please, keep Jason away if you can, the least we need right now is…”

And explosion on the left wing of the manor interrupted Batman from continuing his sentence, but not from slapping his forehead in frustration.

The comm chirped merrily.

“Yes, Alfred?” Bruce sighed tiredly.

“It appears Master Jason is here, Master Bruce,” the Englishman said simply.

“I can tell,” Bruce growled. “Thank you, Alfred, I’m sending Dick back up.”

“Thank you, Master Bruce.”

“Go, make sure they don’t kill eachother.”

“On my way,” Dick said, running upstairs once again only to gape as he saw Damian chasing Jason around the Manor, each hand holding one of Bruce’s ornate swords and purposefully slashing the air around Jason’s retreating form with clear intent to kill.

“Take it back! Take it back!” he demanded.

“Like hell I will, you demon brat!” Jason mocked, laughing. “I slept with your mommy myself, and her name ain’t that for sure!”

“As if mother would let you touch her, you mongrel!”

“She sure did!” Jason cackled. “And liked it!”

“NEVER!”

“Dude! She’s a criminal, what would she care about class when you have the skills?” the man said, sneering. Damian’s lips pulled back in a snarl that showed his teeth.

“My mother is not a criminal, you bastards! She’s a doctor! The best in Gotham!”

Jason stopped his running and teasing, staring at the kid.

“She’s a what?”

“She’s a doctor,” Damian confirmed, eyes narrowed. “She’s not this Talia woman you speak about and you certainly never touched her. My father would have eviscerated you.”

Jason turned to Dick, eyebrow rising.

“What is he on?” he asked, pointing a careless thumb at Damian who instantly poked the offending finger away… with his sword. “OW!”

“Ivy’s Pollen,” Dick sighed, carefully approaching the pair.

“He’s not humping anyone’s leg,” Jason commented, holding his injured finger to his chest.

“It’s new, B is downstairs trying to find some antidote.”

Jason turned to Damian then, blinking.

“Tell me more about your mom?” he asked, trying to contain his smirk.

Dick facepalmed.

Damian’s chest rose with pride as he lowered his swords – which Dick quickly took away, just to be certain – and told them both about his wonderful and sweet mother who had met his Father while she was a med student and of the brief romance they held until they went their separate ways. He told them of his childhood travelling around the world while his mother perfected her skills and the day when she decided it was time enough for him to meet his father, and how happy Bruce had been to see them both.

“I think Father still loves Mother, but one can never be sure with him, of course,” Damian commented, nodding.

“Right,” Dick said, trying to find an appropriate reply to such detailed delusion. They all knew the demon brat was an overachiever, but to create such complex fantasy in his head out of pollen alone? Damn.

“Right,” Jason echoed, staring uncomfortably at the kid. “Got any picture around? I’ve never seen her?”

“Of course you haven’t, Todd,” Damian snapped, rolling his eyes. “You were dead at the time.”

“Right,” echoed Dick and Jason.

Damian ran to his room, his smile still happy and innocent as he returned with a small white envelope and carefully pulled a run-down picture from it.

“Father doesn’t know I have this,” he commented. “He would be so mad if he knew. It’s the only picture he has of Mother and it’s a very old one. I think she looks pretty.”

Jason and Dick stared at the picture, gapping ridiculously as a teenager with straight brown hair and pouty pink lips stared back at them, her skinny arms were crossed over her small chest – trying to cover her breasts, actually – as she frowned at the man standing to her side, an obviously amused – thought stoic as always – Bruce Wayne.

Dick looked at Jason, trying to contain his distress.

Jason took the picture, blinking.

“Is this…” he asked.

Dick nodded.

 “That’s my mother, obviously,” Damian said with a smile. “Doctor Caroline Hill.”

Jason covered his mouth, trying to contain his laughter most likely and Dick imagined he could bang his forehead against the wall without alerting anyone, maybe shoot Ivy and end all their collective suffering. No one would know.

Nothing in the world could make the situation worse, at least.

“Guys?” a soft voice called from the entrance. “I’m here.”

Damian’s unfocussed eyes lit up in delight, Jason took out his phone camera, eager.

Dick simply cursed his luck.

Tim, on the other hand, stared at the three of them in surprise, his hand holding his laptop bag.

“Oh, Baby Bird,” Jason greeted. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

“Uh?” Tim asked, tilting his head to the side. “Why?”

“Mother!” Damian cried happily, running towards him and wrapping his arms around his waist.

Dick started to cry.

Bruce always left him the hardest missions.


	2. Part 2

 Tim couldn’t stop staring at Damian’s happy smile, the way his fingers eagerly clench and unclench around his sweater like a kitten and his whole posture is one of preening before him.

He is about to rear back, take out his Bo and maybe yell at Dick for such a prank when he notices Damian’s dilated pupils and the way Dick is flailing behind him, his hand waving in front of his own lips and then descending to his chest.

Tim frowns.

Kiss?

Breath?

Wind?

Breasts… And breath…

He tilts his head, confused, before shaking it altogether. Jason laughs and Dick slaps his forehead, finally turning to one of the Manor’s ornate paintings and pointing at the ridiculous vase and flowers that Alfred seems to be the only one to appreciate – Still Nature, he would admonish to them with a frown, were he present – and scowling at Tim.

Okay, he could do this, he was, after all, a detective and a Mensa certified genius – well, he wasn’t, Caroline was or maybe Alvin… or was it Jonathan? he wasn’t sure how he had dressed up to go to the meeting, really – and he could definitely understand his brother’s ridiculous charades if he tried hard enough.

Hmmm…

Vase…

Clay?

No, the first clue he got loud and clear were breasts.

Oil.

Canvas.

Ancient painting of ridiculous opulence.

Marie Antoinette?

Jason continued to giggle – tears were pouring of his eyes, actual tears – and Damian snuggled into his chest, sighing happily, while Dick proceeded to stab the painting with his finger.

Not Marie Antoinette, then.

Dick’s finger continued to viciously stab a spat of green oil in the painting that was supposed to resemble a leaf – but Tim’s artistic sensitivities extended mostly to photography and things that actually looked like they should – but Tim’s mind instantly supplied that sunflower leaves didn’t really look like that, they were big and cheerful looking, not like those green splashes that actually looked like Iv…

Oh.

“Ivy?” he asked softly, his fingers reaching for Damian’s chin to force the boy’s face up. The child complied without protest, his smile still as wide as his dilated pupils. Dick threw his hands up in the air, a long huff leaving his lips. Jason laughed harder – if possible, Tim considered he might be on the brink of a heart attack by now – and Damian, Damian snuggled his cheek into Tim’s open palm.

“Ivy, mother?” he asked, blinking. “Did you hurt yourself in the garden?”

Tim shook his head.

“No, I’m okay,” he replied uncertainly, his hand awkwardly patting Damian’s cheek. “You however, worry me.”

Damian’s chest instantly puffed out with pride.

“I’m fine, mother,” he argued, his hand reaching for Tim’s warmly. “You know I can take care of myself.”

Tim eyed him warily for a moment before his eyes strayed to Jason, who was on the floor by now, and Dick who stared at them in worry. Suddenly, he was blessed with an idea.

“Well, I do not approve that you should take care of yourself, son,” he said, the back of his fingers caressing Damian’s cheekbone. “Where is that father of yours, he is the one in charge of your safety.”

Damian laughed.

“Mother,” he said. “You don’t have to.”

“Damian,” Tim replied. “I insist.”

The boy sighed, his smile not losing its width as he disentangled himself from his ‘mother’.

“Very well, I shall tell him you require his presence,” he said.

“Do not bother,” Tim sighed, caressing his hair. “I will go down that dreadful cave of his; I do believe we will need privacy for this conversation.”

Jason and Dick stared at Tim – always the consumed actor, Tim was – before the older man elbowed the younger and the two of them dashed towards the cave. None of them wanted to miss this.

***

“So,” Tim said as he perched in his usual chair. “This is all Ivy’s pollen and my old Caroline Hill picture? How did he find that? You promised you wouldn’t show anyone.”

Bruce sighed, still typing on the computer.

“He might have found the copy on Alfred’s scrapbook,” he replied absently, his eyes scanning the screen while ignoring Tim’s scowl.

“Alfred’s scrapbook,” the teen replied in a deadpan.

“You know,” Dick said. “The one where he keeps all our childhood pictures? There’s a page dedicated to all the times we had to dress in drag.”

“What?” Jason yelled, cheeks flushing.

“Well, yea?” Dick laughed, turning to him. “You were such an adorable little lady, Jay, though I was the hottest, definitely.”

“Not helping, Dick,” Tim growled, crossing his arms. “So he found the scrapbook and decided I looked enough like him to be his mother?”

“Most likely it had to do with the fact Jason looked like a hooker and I was too tall?” Dick offered, smiling. “You were the only one small enough, plus you had your med-gear on.”

“Hey!” Jason protested, only to be ignored. “I looked classy!”

“Therefore he created a whole fantasy in his head about his mother, the doctor, and his father, the caped vigilante,” Tim surmised in disbelief.

“I’m working on an antidote as we speak,” Bruce cut off, glaring at his children.

“It doesn’t look good from here,” Tim snapped, eyeing the screen. “At this point all antidotes would provoke fever and who knows what else, Bruce. Damian is already eleven, it would be dangerous.”

Bruce huffed, still typing.

Dick and Jason rolled their eyes.

“From what I can tell,” Tim continued, unfazed. “This doesn’t seem like a lethal brand of pollen; most likely Ivy was trying to play around with Damian’s head, his issues, but didn’t put into account his… creativity?”

“Most definitely,” Dick nodded. “We should just sit him down and explain the situation. Damian is a smart kid, he will understand.”

“Or his brain will break,” Jason offered, smirking.

“No,” Bruce said. “His perception of reality is already compromised, I tried to reason with him but his mind just bent his fantasy to accommodate all new data.”

“So, we try an antidote and it might fry his body with a fever,” Dick scowled. “If we explain what happened he won’t believe it. And if we let the pollen run its course?”

“It would flush out on itself by the end of the month,” Bruce replied, eyes set on the screen. “There doesn’t seem to be any component that might affect his neuronal efficiency.”

The cave fell into silence, all eyes on the screen except for Tim’s. He was staring at the drawings Damian had handed to him before he had descended into Batman’s lair. Childish pictures of a colorful family and dreams of a boy who’s only wish was for his mother’s and father’s love.

He bit his lip, his mind flashing to his enormous bedroom, filled to the brim with books and antiques and games and posters, to the ridiculously advanced darkroom where his personal bathroom used to be and the cold sheets of his childhood bed where he learnt to read by sheer force of will… just because there was no one home to read him a bedtime story. The little stool where he would learn to cook and to bake for school events.

The yellow sweater he still kept in his closet that he liked to wrap around his back in hopes it felt like his father’s embrace must have felt, the silk scarf he wrapped around his neck when he was about to snap, because it still smelt like his mother’s Chanel perfume and he could pretend it was the scent of her hair, the aroma that clung to her skin when she cradled him against her chest as he was a baby.

His eyes stung.

“I’m doing it,” he whispered, letting his fingers caress the crayon strokes on the paper.

All eyes turned to him, wide in their disbelief.

“You are doing what?” Jason asked, frowning.

Bruce stood from his seat.

“You won’t,” he growled. “You don’t know the consequences, Tim.”

Tim stood as well, eyes blazing.

“Your son needs it, Bruce,” he hissed, hands clenched. “Even if it’s only for a month, he has the right to know how it feels to be loved by a parent.”

Dick’s eyes widened as he understood.

“Tim,” he began.

“No, Dick,” Tim interrupted. “You had your parents, and Bruce had his, you wouldn’t understand. Your mother is… an icon, a saint to you, but to Damian… his mother is cold and painful, she’s a betrayal. Why do you think that the moment he was drugged he created a mother for himself? Because he knows he needs one.”

“You don’t know what consequences…” Dick began.

“I’m not asking for permission,” Tim snapped. “I’m informing you.”

“Tim,” Bruce said, eyes locking on Tim’s.

“You can either join me on this, Bruce, or you can hide in here for the rest of the month like you have been doing, it doesn’t matter to me,” Tim challenged. “But your son needs something you can’t give him and, for some bizarre reason, I can.”

Without another word the teen stormed out of the cave, his hands clenched and his eyes full of determination.

Bruce and Dick watched him go, their faces full of apprehension.

“He’s right, you know?” Jason sighed, making the pair turn to him.

“What?” Dick asked.

“The kid needs a mother,” the younger man said, green eyes lost in an unseen point of the cave’s ceiling, lost in past memories of better times. “He needs that icon of perfection that is a loving mother, and Talia certainly won’t be that for him.”

Bruce looked at him, his eyes softening.

Dick frowned.

“Jay…” he whispered.

Jason shrugged.

“I should know…” he said with a self-deprecating laugh. “That little brat is molding his mother after mine.”

Dick instantly wrapped his arms around the other man, unable to utter a word that might sooth his brother’s broken heart.

***

When Bruce finally made it out of the cave – he would have to admit, if only to himself that he had been hiding from his son, again – he found Tim sitting with Damian in the Manor’s garden, eyes set on the sky as his fingers carded through the boy’s dark hair.

“You do realize, Damian, that I am a man,” he said carefully, eyes trained on Damian’s relaxed posture as he leaned into his side.

The child was silent for a second, maybe a minute, an hour, an eternity, before he nodded into Tim’s sweater.

“I know,” he said finally. “But I wasn’t sure whether Grayson or Todd knew and I didn’t want to put you in danger. I know I am… an accident, mother, a clone… but… I like to pretend I’m unique… special, if only to you.”

Bruce’s eyes widened when Tim wrapped his arms tightly around the boy’s frame, his face resting on his hair.

“Oh, Damian,” Tim said, not missing a beat. “You are special to me, and to everyone, there will never be another like you to me.”

“But you could always clone another like me, if I’m not to your satisfaction,” the boy mumbled, shaking. Tim shook his head.

“It wouldn’t be you,” Tim replied. “There will always be one Damian to me, and that is you, no one, not even your perfect genetic match could replace you in my heart.”

Damian’s eyes rose to meet Tim’s, and Bruce could see the tears pooling in them as clearly as he could see the ones wetting Tim’s lashes.

“Please don’t replace me, mother,” the child whimpered.

“Never, little one,” Tim promised, tightening his embrace for a second. “I love you more than you can possibly imagine, you changed my life and it frightened me, yes, but in the long run I would never change a moment I spent with you, understand that?”

Damian nodded.

“I want you to promise me that you will never forget this, Damian,” Tim urged. “That I will never regret having you in my life and that I will always love you, no matter what.”

Damian’s face went back to the soft wool of Tim’s sweater, his shoulders finally relaxing.

“I promise, mother,” he whispered, his hands tightening on the cloth. “I love you too.”

“Forever, my little one,” Tim whispered, his nose nuzzling Damian’s ear.

“Forever,” Damian replied.

Bruce continued to stare, unable to move a muscle less he disturb such a scene. His son’s insecurities and pain had been bared before his eyes and he wasn’t sure he knew how to react.

Tim had been right, he had been lucky enough to be blessed with parents that loved him beyond measure and had no qualms in showing him their adoration. Damian, on the other hand, had a mother that saw him as means to an end, a piece of equipment to be replaced at convenience, and a father that was so broken and scarred that didn’t know how to love his own flesh and blood anymore.

He shook his head.

It was time he pulled his own act together for the sake of those two wonderful children sitting on the grass.

If Tim was brave enough to let his insecurities behind for the sake of Damian, he had to be able to embrace his role as father for once and do right by him.

He owed it to his own father and mother, in the very least.

With another shake of his head he made his way back to his bedroom.

He had to shower, change and step into his character, his child needed him.


	3. Part 3

By the time Bruce has gathered enough courage to approach the new-found… family, Damian is sitting in the kitchen’s isle with Alfred, showing him all the drawings he prepared for his mother and the things he wants to do now that he is here.

Tim, on the other hand, is whistling a classical tune as he stirs a pot over the fire, his smile a gentle curl of the lips that makes him look younger than ever, sweeter than ever.

He coughs.

Damian turns to him, a joyful smile on his face as rushes to pull a chair for his father to sit on.

“Father! Come quick! Mother is making Ends Meat!” he beams, prompting a laugh from Tim and a fond smile from Alfred. “Even Pennyworth is intrigued!”

Bruce blinks, curious, before he takes a seat by Damian’s side, his hand hesitantly reaching to ruffle his son’s hair only to receive a nod of approval from Alfred.

“What’s Ends Meat?” he asks, tilting his head.

Tim smiles at him.

“It’s a traditional dish of the Drake household,” he explains. “My father used to cook it when he was in school, you know, by the end of the month, and he kept cooking it for me when I was a child myself.”

Bruce nods, not wanting to remind Tim of his unfortunate father.

“It’s delicious, father!” Damian says with enthusiasm.

“What does it contain?” Alfred asks when Tim dumps a few chunks of meat into the pot and then a half full bowl of peas.

“Whatever is in the fridge by the end of the month,” Tim laughs. “Ends meet, remember?”

Alfred laughs himself.

“Of course.”

Tim turns off the stove, spooning the soup/stew/goo into small bowls and blowing on them lightly before placing them on the isle, his eyes fond.

“Well, dig in,” he encourages, sitting in front of his family.

Damian instantly does so, getting most of the food in his face and slurping the noodles – noodles? Really? – noisily.

“Manners, Damian,” Bruce corrects instantly, which makes his son laugh.

“That’s the beauty of Ends Meat, father! It’s a manly dish meant to be eaten in the manliest way!” the boy replies. Bruce frowns, turning to Tim for assistance and blinks in surprise when the boy blinks back at him with his usual small smile, a noodle curling into his chin.

“Wha?” he says, swallowing. “It’s true.”

Bruce has never seen his Tim, his obsessive compulsive Tim, his neat-freak of a son, ever slurp his food, much less in front of Alfred or himself. And the food – is that an egg floating in the soup? Yes, it’s an egg, and sausages – looks as unhealthy as it looks disgusting, something he would expect Dick or Jason to eat, but not Tim, never Tim.

He turns to Alfred for advice and, to his relief, the old man looks back, his hand holding the spoon carefully towards his mouth.

“It is tradition, Master Bruce,” he says simply, sipping the broth neatly and shivering for a second before swallowing.

“It seems we offended Pennyworth’s British sensitivities, Mother,” Damian whispers, eyes bright.

“It seems we did, son,” Tim agrees, shaking his head. “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to Alfred, really.”

The old man sighs in relief.

“I am sorry, Master Timothy, Master Damian,” he says. “But your Ends Meat seems to be too… strong for me.”

Bruce snorts, taking a spoonful of the dish and pretending he is not expecting it to leap into his face by itself.

Alfred’s sharp eyes turn to him.

“Master Bruce, however, should enjoy your tradition,” he says, standing up. “If you excuse me, I believe I should inform Master Richard and Master Jason not to disturb you all.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Tim nods, placing another enormous spoonful of the meal into his mouth, eyes following the old man as he leaves.

“Coward,” Damian laughs.

“Be nice, son,” Tim reprimands lightly, making the boy nod with a pout. “Please go and fetch some juice for us? Your father seems to be having difficulty swallowing his food but is too polite to say so.”

“I’m fine,” Bruce growls instantly.

Damian eyes them for a moment, his mind conjuring the situation to fit into his little fantasy, before his whole face lights up like a Christmas tree and he dashes towards the fridge, giggling the whole way.

Tim watches him go, eyes fond, before he turns to Bruce.

“I’m glad you decided to join us,” he whispers, his spoon swirling into the soup.

Bruce sighs.

“It wouldn’t have been fair if I didn’t, not to you or to Damian,” he replies, shaking his head. “What have you observed so far?”

“He’s happier than I have ever seen him, it’s sweet,” Tim says. “It seems he has thought about this more than once, dreamt about it for years.”

Bruce lowers his eyes, shoulders tense.

“It’s not your fault, Bruce,” Tim states immediately, eyes melancholic. “You are a good parent, you just need to learn how to be a good father.”

The older man winces at the thinly-veiled reprimand.

Tim crosses his arms over his chest.

“I still have a lot to learn, apparently,” he mutters, scowling.

“As I said, it’s not your fault,” Tim repeats. “Dick, Jason, Cass, me, we all came with a previous father-figure, good or bad, you could always base yourself around that and act accordingly. Damian on other hand… you are his father, every action you choose to take is going to matter more to him than to any of us.”

“It’s frightening,” Bruce admits. “Any little mistake could damage him for life.”

“You will make mistakes, Bruce,” Tim sighs, placing a hand on top of his mentor’s. “You are human. And Damian will learn to accept your humanity in time, you’ll see that. If you can face the Joker and come unscattered, you can do this.”

“I’d rather face the Joker,” Bruce mutters, earning a laugh from Tim.

“Alfred and Dick and the rest of us are here to help you, you know that,” the teen reminds, his thumb caressing the back of Bruce’s hand. “For once just let us.”

Bruce stares at their joined hands for a moment, eyes sad, before he raises them to meet Tim’s face.

“When did you become such a good father, Tim?” he asks jokingly, his smile small and fond.

Tim laughs.

“I had a great example while growing up,” he replies, smiling his own shy smile himself.

“Jack?” Bruce asks.

“You.”

“Touché,” Bruce laughs lightly, his own fingers grasping Tim’s. “Thank you… for doing this for Damian.”

Tim flushes.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “Demon Brat and little sociopath aside, he is a good kid. Alfred says he acts like you did at his age.”

Bruce turns towards the fridge where his youngest son is pretending to take his sweet time reaching for the juice carton and sighs.

“I was well behaved,” he says, smiling.

“You were less trained,” Tim replies, snickering.

“Umm, lil’ D?” Dick’s voice floats into the kitchen, making them all turn to him. “Why are you trying to crawl into the fridge?”

Bruce takes his hand away from Tim’s, his whole body stiff. Tim looks away, his cheeks coloring.

Damian hisses.

“Good job, Grayson!” he snarls. “Mother and Father were getting along just fine!”

“Alfred said you guys were eating Tim’s cooking,” Dick protests, grabbing the juice in one hand and Damian’s shoulder in the other. “I’ve never seen Tim cook before.”

“It’s Ends Meat,” Damian hisses, ripping the juice away from Dick’s hand and slamming the fridge closed violently. “And there is not enough for you.”

“He could take my portion,” Bruce offers lamely, earning a glare from his two youngest.

“Father!” Damian protests with a pout.

“Bruce!” Tim echoes, frowning.

“I’m eating,” Bruce sighs, shoving another spoonful of the concoction into his mouth and chewing it. Damian beams at him, dragging his chair to Tim’s side when Dick seats by Bruce’s.

“That looks gross,” the acrobat comments, poking Alfred’s bowl.

“Then don’t eat it,” Damian snaps, slurping his noodles.

“Damian,” Tim admonishes, his hand coming to caress the nape of his neck. “Manners.”

“Mother,” the boy mimics. “Ends Meat’s main rule is, there are no manners whenever Ends Meat is concerned.”

Tim chuckles and continues to eat, giving Damian his well-deserved victory. The boy simply snuggles into his mother’s side, happy to have both parents indulging him in such a silly tradition.

For a moment there is a flash of a memory floating before his eyes. He is sneaking into someone’s apartment in his Robin costume, sneering at the pot holding the unhealthy concoction that is Ends Meat before shoving a spoonful into his mouth curiously and then, deciding it is quite acceptable, eating the whole thing.

To his right, a loathed figure has passed out from exhaustion, hands hanging low from the couch.

He shakes his head.

No, his mother always cooked Ends Meat for him, there is no way anyone else would cook it, much less him stealing it from someone else’s home.

His cheek rubs against his mother’s shoulder and he sighs in content, hoping the moment never ends.


	4. Part 4

“Dick is going to be angry when he realizes we are gone,” Bruce said good-naturedly as he watched his son staring eagerly out of the window, his hand tightly clasped around Tim’s in excitement.

“You know how he upsets Damian,” Tim replied, shrugging. “Plus, someone had to take care of your business while you take the day off.”

Bruce nodded, a fond smile curling his lips. It had been Tim’s idea, of course, that he spent a day with the two of them and reacquainted himself with his child, that he seized the opportunity to bring happier memories to his tortured offspring. Of course, his third Robin had been ruthless and had suggested they went to the cinema, try to show Damian the things Bruce himself did with his parents, but the sole notion had frightened The Batman and he had opted instead to take them to the amusement park.

A son needed unique memories of his parents, he reasoned while Tim and Alfred scowled at him.

As soon as Tim had left to rouse Damian from bed and tell him the big news, however, Alfred had approached him, face full of disapproval, and commented that their estranged posture still upset Young Master Damian, and couldn’t he make an effort? If only for the remainder of the month? Young Master Damian would be delighted and maybe the small rift opening between him and Master Tim could be mended a little.

Bruce eyed Tim’s tender smile as he listened to Damian rant about all the things he wanted to do, the rides he wanted to play in, the pictures he wanted to take – and hadn’t his mother brought his camera? It would be a wonderful opportunity! – the foods he wanted to indulge in. Tim’s eyes reflected his enthusiasm, even if his body language tried to hide such excitement and Bruce had to wonder how many amusement parks had the teen gone to himself, whether Jack or Janet had ever taken their child to enjoy a day with them.

He shook his head, squirming in his worn jeans and sweater, idly wondering why Tim hadn’t let him just close the damn park so he and his family wouldn’t have to go incognito and only coming up with a simple explanation.

He was still being punished.

Alfred gave him a look of amusement over the rearview mirror and parked the modest car in front of the park, quickly opening the passenger door so Damian could rush out happily, eyes wide in wonderment. Then, the old man opened the co-pilot door, offering his hand to Tim.

“We are here, Miss Hill,” he said fondly, smiling when Tim’s small hand took his. It was always a marvelous thing to watch as Master Tim let himself immerse into one of his many characters. The way his whole body language seemed to shimmer before one’s eyes and then settle into a new persona altogether.

“Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth,” Caroline said gently, her small feet slowly descending to the floor and balancing in her delicate tan sandals, her cream colored summer dress fluttering on the spring breeze as her hair danced. “Damian, my love, don’t wander away.”

“I won’t mother!” the boy cried back, instantly rushing towards his mother to grasps her pale hand in his.

“What do we say to nice Mr. Pennyworth, sweetie?” Caroline asked, raising an eyebrow at her child.

Damian flushed.

“Thank you for driving us, Alfred,” he whispered, shyly hiding his face on his mother’s side.

The old man’s smile widened.

“You are most welcomed, Young Master Damian,” he replied with a bow.

“Bruce, is there anything wrong?” Caroline asked, raising an eyebrow. Bruce shook his head, getting out of the car unaided and eyeing the way Damian and Tim seemed to meld together.

He smiled.

“Nothing, dear,” he said, walking toward them and grabbing Tim’s free hand. “I just thought it reminded me of the first day I saw you wearing that dress.”

Tim flushed, his eyes narrowing to throw ‘a look’ in Bruce’s way, but Alfred could see the delighted way Young Master Damian’s eyes brightened and thought maybe Master Bruce was right all along, despite appearances.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us, Alfred?” Miss Caroline asked him, making him smile. Mater Tim always made sure he felt included in their family activities, and this would not be the exception.

“I’m sure, Miss Hill,” he replied, his wrinkled had caressing the top of her head. “You go and have fun with your family. Shall I pick you up, later on?”

“That’s okay, Alfred,” Bruce said, shrugging. “We’ll get a taxi when we are done.”

“Meaning you want Alfred back at the Manor containing Dick and Jason,” Caroline laughed softly.

“Meaning Alfred is the only one who can do it without causing major destruction to our house,” Bruce nodded.

Damian giggled when Caroline rolled her eyes.

“So dramatic,” she sighed. “Accurate, but dramatic.”

***

“Again!” Damian beamed, running a hand through his wind-wild hair and jumping in place, hardly able to contain the adrenaline coursing through his system. His father falters for a second, his own eyes wide as he slowly removed the harness over his chest, fingers trembling.

“Again?” he asked, his face losing all color. “Damian, it’s a free fall.”

“It’s fun!” the boy replied, helping his mother from her own harness and into the platform, making sure her wig is still in place and that her bare feet don’t find any glass or stones that might damage them – stupid security people suggesting she took her shoes off in case one of them flew out in the fall – as they waited for his father to meet them.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Bruce complained, shaking his head.

“Surely you are used to free-falling, Bruce,” Caroline said, her voice sugary-sweet.

“Not this way,” he grumbled, scowling in embarrassment when he realized that both of his children were perfectly okay with the ride. “Plus, you shouldn’t ride this again.”

“Huh?” Caroline blinked, eyes wide.

“Why?” Damian pouted, arms crossing over his chest.

Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“Because those teenagers over there,” he replied with a shrug. “Have been staring at your mother’s underwear for the last ten minutes.”

Caroline turned to gape at a group of teens that had indeed, been staring under her dress as she rode the game over and over, and how her girlish underwear must have been exposed in the few seconds as she free-fell.

Her face colored.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she hissed, eyes narrowing at the smug look Bruce sported.

The man shrugged.

“You two looked like you were enjoying yourselves so much,” he said idly, his ridiculous Brucie smile in place.

“You suck, Bruce,” she mumbled, her hands instantly reaching to smooth her skirt.

“I love you too, dear,” he said, before his eyes widened and he reached for Caroline’s hand, tugging her towards the right where Damian had decided to teach the peeping toms a lesson for staring at his beloved mother. “Oh, god.”

“Damian!” Caroline gasped, torn between horror that the assassin trained child could easily mop the floor with the teens and amusement at their disbelieving faces as he did.

Opting to avoid issues with security, Caroline and Bruce decided to stop Damian before he could land himself in jail.

 

***

“Mother!” Damian asked, his hand eagerly reaching for Caroline’s as he gently tugged his mother towards a smiling woman walking arm in arm with a dirt-stained faced man. “Who are they?”

Bruce watched in amusement as Tim’s eyes seemed to light up for a second before his face returned to its usual calm tranquility.

“Go shake that man’s hand, son,” he told Damian, his own smile widening when his child’s nose scrunched in disgust.

“Huh?” the boy asked, tilting his head at his tall father.

“You will have the best of luck,” Caroline added, her fingers reaching to card through Damian’s hair. “It’s customary.”

Damian looked at them doubtfully, his eyes straying from their confident smiles to the hand Bruce slowly placed on his mother’s small shoulder and then back to the couple still walking around the sidewalk. “Should we interrupt him?” the boy tried, unconsciously nearing his mother’s side in search of protection. “They do look busy.”

“Tell you what,” Caroline offered. “The three of us will go, I’m sure your father and I can do well with some luck ourselves.”

Bruce blinked before he found himself being dragged towards the couple by an eager Tim and an insecure Damian, both eyeing him for any sort of reaction. And while Damian’s eyes seemed to plead for directions, Tim’s offered a slow, painful and rather embarrassing death should he ruin their day.

He sighed.

“Of course.”

The woman greeted them with a charmingly small smile, her hand reaching to pat Damian’s cheek gently while the man quickly shook his hand eagerly, promising him the best of lucks as he did so. Bruce reached over Damian’s head, his social smile firmly in place as he shook the man’s grim-laden hand and shook it briefly, complimenting the woman’s dress and how lovely the two of them looked.

The man, seeing this, scowled at Bruce before gently grasping Caroline’s free hand and bringing it to his lips, landing a soft skin on the back of it and winking flirtatiously at her. Damian gapped, his eyes wide as the strange man laughed loudly and his mother’s cheeks flushed a deep red. Bruce, on the other hand, scowled and wrapped his arm possessively around Caroline’s slender shoulders, pulling her to rest at his side, his Batman-glare directed at the laughing couple.

Damian blinked, unable to restrain the pleased smile that threatened to break as he watched his father’s protectiveness and the easy way in which his mother’s smaller form seemed to instantly melt against his father’s side, how they fit together to perfection.

“Your parents are so sweet,” the woman told him gently, her manicured hand resting on his own shoulder. “No wonder they raised a perfect gentleman such as yourself.”

Damian smiled at her, his first sincere smile, and nodded.

“Yes,” he said simply. “Yes they are.”

***

Bruce tried not to smile at himself like a stupid child as he watched the city fly by over the taxi’s window. Damian was sleeping, curled onto his side with a pleased smile on his young face, small smudges of chocolate still clinging to his lips.

By his other side, Tim sighed.

“You were great today,” he whispered, giving him his usual small smile.

Bruce smiled back.

“I’ve never seen him so happy,” he commented, adjusting his son’s round, black mouse ears. “You had a great idea.”

“He deserves happy memories,” Tim replied, shaking his head.

“So do you,” Bruce smiled, his hand reaching to caress Tim’s, their fingers entwining.

The teen flushed.

“Thank you, for this wonderful day, Bruce,” he said gently, his head coming to rest against his shoulder, eyes closing slowly.

“Take a nap,” Bruce whispered. “I’ll wake you up when we arrive at the hotel.”

“Okay,” the boy replied with a soft yawn.

Bruce smiled at his family and how they trustingly curled around him, seeking his warmth.

He guessed he could get used to this, to the domesticity that was creating itself around his life, and continued to idly stare at his reflection on the window and the same round ears perched on top of his head.

“Chim chimney, chim chimney, chim chim cheroo,” he whispered, closing his own eyes, the fingers of his right hand caressing Damian’s hair as his left thumb caressed the back of Tim’s hand. “Good luck will rub off when I shake hands with you.”


End file.
